I dip my head and cut my eyes to Josh, whose hands are slack and whose eyes are wide and vacant. Now maybe he knows what it's like to lose everything. Hell, I can relate. The news leaves a hollow feeling straight through my middle.
And just like that, the business that brought us here has been shut down, postponed until one man is dead. I understand the stakes that Abuela has made. If Maria expects to be welcomed back into the top rungs of her grandmother's network, she has to earn it.
She won't be accepted until she has ended the war that began with Charlie in the backyard, where he was supposed to be lighting the grill and ended up dead. The same war she has perpetuated by sending Derrik away with his tail between his legs, howling like the swine that he is.
Josh and Izzy don't speak Spanish. They don't know the whole of what the old woman said, but I do. I'm not going to help you do this. If you fail, I will disown you before you take your last breath, and you will dishonor your brother's name. I don't want to lose my only granddaughter, but I have no choice.
I try my best to pretend I heard nothing of the conversation as Abuela sidesteps Maria to study her haggard guests. I lower my chin, and with a quick glance to each side, affirm that the others are doing the same.
She ambles first toward Izzy, who has miraculously recovered from his open emotion moments ago. He seems much more comfortable than Josh and, admittedly, I do. Of course, he gained her approval a long time ago, he's been through the nerves of her presence far more times than either of us younger guys. For once, he isn't smoking.
He says, “Sorry for your loss, Abuela,” as she approaches him.
The weight of the conversation she just had seems to have evaporated from her gait. She has said what she needs to on the subject and now its traces are gone. She's a mysterious being, many more times so than Maria, and I understand much more about the latter in this instant. Abuela allows Izzy to kiss her cheeks, then she nods her thanks.
He adds, “You are more beautiful than ever.”
I catch a glimpse of the curve that takes her lips and, suddenly, I feel like a kid. I could never say such a thing to her, wouldn't dare. He wields his familiarity so easily.
I hear her say, “Like good tequila, yes?” in a softly coy tone.
It takes all of my self-control not to let my eyebrows raise, not to show my surprise on my face at their banter. Regardless of her age, Abuela possesses a stirring sensuality. And who knew Izzy had it in him? After two years, I don't think I really know him at all.
I don't want to seem too interested in said sensuality, so I divert my attention to Maria, who has not turned to watch this exchange. I can feel the pieces of her heart crumbling away from where I stand, and all I really want to do is to take her under my arm as the fireflies dance around her ankles. She's not crying, but I know she wants to. The handle of Charlie's gun peeks out from the back of her jeans shorts. I can't do anything and it makes me feel sick. Maybe I'm getting too soft. But then, maybe it's just the heat.
“Welcome back, Frederick,” I hear Abuela say, and I know I've been caught in my moment of speculative adoration.
I meet Grandmother's eyes, see that she has one eyebrow raised, surely at the brazenness I have shown in my distraction of the moment. I hope against any odds that I haven't made a grave mistake in the diversion of my attention. I fight the urge to clear my throat in an attempt to clear my conscience before I answer.
“Thank you for the honor of visiting you again.”
I give her the best small, close-lipped smile I can manage.
She reaches up and deftly pulls a pin from her hat, then removes it. I almost expect her hair to swing down in a cascade of richness by the way she commands the moment, but then I remember the context of this meeting. Also, she isn't the type of woman who has to do such things to get the attention she wants.
She answers, “You look well. It seems your time with my family has been good for you.”
“They have taken the best care of me,” I say with a respectful nod.
I suddenly feel like she'll read all my secrets. Her expression is no longer hard or aggressive, yet the way she looks at me is so pertinent. I feel the need to confess to being the one who actually pulled the trigger against Derrik, as if that'd be a chivalrous action to rise to Maria's defense long after the subject has been closed. As if I could do anything to “save” her. She's not that kind of princess. I'm not that kind of knight.
Abuela makes another grin, says, “Ah, si, si, you got a little piece of revenge yourself.”
No. Fucking. Way. She reads my thoughts anyway. I'm sure my expression doesn't change, but her smile deepens a fraction.
I say, “Yes, ma'am.”
Now I confront her gaze. This experience can only teach me something. This is the way of a true genius, someone who owns her profession, someone who must always gauge her company. Or maybe she really does know everything. Her presence is greatness in a tiny frame.
She says, “My family is kind, in our own way.”
She reaches out a hand and gently squeezes my left shoulder. I nearly cringe from the power of her touch, but that would be beyond rude. Then she adds in Spanish, “You know that you too have a mark on your head. Not because you acted out of line,
